


Ouroboros

by tonedeaf



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Gen, I've come back to finish what I started, Not Really Character Death, Time Loop, Time Travel Fix-It, [SPOILER WARNING for Vol.2 in epilogue!], time travel angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-03-10 03:42:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3275387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tonedeaf/pseuds/tonedeaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He finds himself thinking of everything at once - of the way Peter tended to treat all of them with nervous care, of those moments where he seemed to know precisely what would happen next without a second thought, of the tally marks carved into the surface of that pathetic hunk of wood and metal he called a clock. Finally, Rocket finds his voice.</p><p>"...Quill...Have we met before?"<br/> <br/>Peter won't meet his gaze.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. destine

* * *

  **destine** _(v)_ :

          1. To preordain.  
          2. To assign something for a particular use.  
          3. To have a particular destination.

* * *

 

           Peter isn't entirely certain how the clock came to be in the first place. After having had it for such a long time, he decidedly doesn't care about that part anymore; there isn't a point to it. Every now and then, though, during his rare moments of calm and quiet, he looks over at it and thinks for a while. He hadn't previously been one to believe in destiny and all that existential jargon, but suffice to say, this item somehow finding its way to him did make it hard to believe in just mere coincidence.

          Admittedly, he sometimes doesn't treat it with as much reverence and care that it obviously deserves - and he'll be the first to say that he is incredibly stupid for such - but it was often difficult not to lose his composure and take it out on whatever was closest at hand. Peter Quill was not a particularly violent man in nature, but neither was he a saint.

          After all, he supposes, he is only human.

 

* * *

 

           When they managed to make it all the way to Xandar to confront Ronan, Peter was more than nervous, a rapidly building hope bubbling just beneath the surface.

          Of course, he should have known better.

          To an extent, he already did, but as time passed and they managed to make it further and further into the plan, his excitement really was getting harder to control. So far, so good - it was getting to the worst part, but as long as things kept going as smoothly as they had been so far, they definitely stood more than a chance, right? They were so close, he could practically see the metaphorical light at the end of the tunnel right in front of his very eyes. All that was left now was actually stepping through to the other side and calling it a job well done.

          And as he lay on the rocky ground, slowly dying and watching Rocket savagely cut down before him, he thought,

 

          "Of fucking course not."

 

          With trembling hands, he reaches into his jacket to take out the clock, and pulls the small lever on it's side.

 

* * *

Do you want to try again?

 **[YES]**                                                 NO 

* * *

  

          "Quill, are you even listening?"

 

          Peter looks up with a start, flushing in slight embarrassment as he meets the frustrated gazes of his cohorts.

          "Y-Yeah, of course I am!"

          "Oh yeah? Repeat what Gamora just said, then," Rocket challenges, staring him down from the seat across from him.

          He opens his mouth to respond, but thinks better of it and shrinks back. He's been caught, no use in pretending; there isn't enough time for them to waste on it.

          "Yeah that's what I thought," the raccoon snarls, glancing around the room at the others. "Remind me why we're working with this idiot again?"

          Said idiot takes the painful sting of these words gracefully, and when Rocket and Gamora continue the discussion amongst themselves, he lets himself slip back into his thoughts. It was alright; he couldn't let every single biting comment get to him anymore. Before, it would have definitely been different. Before, he would have taken this more to heart and almost instantly jump up to defend himself and incite an argument over his place in the group, but before was not now.

          Rocket didn't know any better. He didn't _know_. None of them knew - he couldn't possibly fault any of them.

          His fingers lightly stroke the uneven surface of the clock, resting comfortably just inside his jacket, and he mentally reminds himself to at some point improve the lining of it's pocket to better protect this most precious object.

 

* * *

 

          The clock had practically fallen into his hands one day during his travels, shortly before he went to Morag to steal the orb that had, unbeknownst to him, housed a goddamn _Infinity Stone_ , of all things.

          He had been visiting some other planet - but what was it's name? It always eluded him, seemingly just out of his reach, as if someone had completely wiped his memory of only the planet's name. Taking an interest in one of its many shopping districts, he happened across the clock sitting inconspicuously enough in a bin, heavily surrounded by other mostly-useless items.

          It could very well have been easily passed by with barely a glance - and in fact, he likely would have missed it by completely if he hadn't tripped at a precise moment and nearly fell into the table - but he had felt drawn to it, in a way. As he caught himself before he could make a messy landing, the clock fell directly into his line of sight, mere inches from his face. Mainly, he was struck by how  _human_  it looked; it looked to be completely Terran, like one of those antiques he could recall seeing many times back on his home planet during his relatively short time spent there, and he reached out to hold it, like a lifeline. It was only hours later, after carefully sneaking it onto his person and managing to leave the planet undetected, that he thought of how stupid it was to have bothered taking it.

          Later, as he was preparing to sleep, he examined the hand-sized clock more closely, taking in every feature - the smooth, almost shiny surface that made it seem brand new, the peculiar little lever at it's right side, the unmoving hands of the clock itself. He supposed wanting a piece from his home with him wasn't exactly the end of the world; it was only natural to be a bit homesick from time to time, wasn't it? Resolving to keep it as a small memento, he placed it carefully amongst the mess of his things and promptly fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

          "Friend Quill, you are unusually distracted tonight. What troubles your mind?"

          Jolted from his thoughts again, he grins lightly at Drax, who he notices is eyeing him rather closely now.

          "Nah, I'm just...Just tired, man. We got a big day ahead of us."

          His excuse sounds weak even to his own ears, and for a few moments he thinks he's about to be more heavily interrogated. Luckily for him, Drax finally backs down and nods once.

          "We are indeed facing a most grave and monumental occasion. It would do you well to obtain some rest beforehand," he says, rather carefully and continuing to watch Peter closely.

          "...Yeah...Yeah I think I'll go do that now."

          Standing up, he pats Drax's shoulder in thanks and is about to make a swift exit out of their sight when a sharp blast hits the Milano's side, sending their bodies flying across the room and careening them headfirst into a violent attack.

          They spring into action and immediately attempt to gain some ground, but Peter already knows far too well that they aren't going to make it this time around.

          Barely registering the confused looks he gets from the other four, he takes out the clock.

 

* * *

 Do you want to try again?

 **[YES]**                                                  NO

* * *

 

          Sometimes, he'd only have to pull the lever after a very short while, and if he was to be completely honest, he often preferred those times to the rest; it meant that his hopes didn't get the chance to grow beyond a seedling before they were crushed. It was easier, those times.

          Other times, when he was feeling particularly strong, he preferred the instances where they'd very nearly won; it meant that they had at least tried their damned best, and that was definitely something to be proud of.

          It was easier in the beginning, he thinks. It usually is, for many different situations.

          As he finds himself back on Xandar, standing once again in front of that certain shop, he frowns and carefully carves another line into one of its wooden panels.

          Officially beginning his journey with an attack on him that quickly blossomed into multiple attacks - it was basically the same exact start each time, at least - he finds that he has to smile even as he's roughly shoved into the back of the Nova Corps vehicle alongside Groot, Rocket, and Gamora.

          "What're _you_ smilin' at, pretty boy?" Rocket snarls at him.

          Peter merely shakes his head and shrugs lightly, turning his eyes to the floor.

          It always feels good to be home.

 

          When they get to the prison and are thrown into the registration and jailing process, Peter doesn't struggle or say much; he's been through this exact process far too many times, down to the last minute detail. Nothing about this process changes normally, something he finds some comfort in - at least this part he could always count of to happen the exact same way each and every single time, minus the fight against it that he stopped bothering with a long, long time ago. There was comfort in routine - this, he knew.

          Sometimes, only sometimes, they'd manage to outrun the Corps.

          Those were the times he'd have the pull the lever almost right away.

          He doesn't miss the odd looks Rocket gives him throughout their journey to the inner rooms of the Kyln, and when they get a few moments of silence as they complete this journey, he hears Rocket get a little closer to be heard better.

          "You been here before, humie?"

          Peter bites back a small grin.

          "...Sort of."

 

          Rocket slows his pace to go back to his original spot in line.

          "...Fuckin' weirdo..."

 

          Later that night, as he finds he is too late and watches Drax practically gut Gamora like a fish, spilling her organs onto the cold floor below, he only barely holds back his vomit. Almost immediately afterward, he drags himself back toward the sleeping cells and demands that Rocket help him get to his personal belongings.

          They manage it, of course, and Peter soon finds himself standing there before them, sirens blaring deafeningly loud and Rocket screaming at him even louder to _'hurry the fuck up, Quill, they're coming!'_  Breathing a sigh of relief as he holds the key to fixing this - fixing everything - he drops to his knees to give Rocket a quick hug, pulling back to hold his shoulders firmly and look him in the eye. Shocked into silence, or perhaps an unimaginable fury for even being touched, he can only stare back.

          "I'm gonna fix this, buddy. I'm not gonna stop until I get it right. I _promise_ , I'll save you guys," he says, squeezing the raccoon's shoulders one final time before reluctantly pulling himself away to gather the clock.

          "Quill...What the _fuck_ are you-"

          Hand on lever, he keeps his eyes on his small friend, keeping the growing threat of tears under a strict hold.

 

          "I'll see you soon, okay?"

          "Quill-!"

 

 

 

* * *

  Do you want to try again?

 **[YES]**                                                  NO 

* * *

 

 

          Peter Quill stands before a familiar shop in a familiar city, on a bright, sunny day. Taking in a deep breath of fresh air, he pulls a small knife from his jacket and carves a single, small line onto an already heavily-marked wooden surface.

          Storing these two items away, he takes a quick look around, and starts walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a test for an idea i've had in my head for a couple of months now  
> I do want to continue it when time allows, but the more positive response to this i get, the more encouraged I'll be to do so, hahaha


	2. will

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and I return

* * *

  **will** _(n)_ :

          1. Desire, longing.  
          2. One's independent faculty of choice; the ability to be able to exercise one's choice or intention.  
          3. One's intention or decision; someone's orders or commands.  
          4. _(archaic)_ That which is desired; one's wish.  
          5. The act of choosing to do something; a person's conscious intent or volition.

* * *

 

            "I think I must've loved you all from the beginning."

 

* * *

 

          Peter keeps his eyes peeled, hyper-vigilant and almost jumpy as he scans the heavily crowded and bustling walkways that make up this part of Xandar. He couldn't, of course, just rush in at the first sign of those familiar faces, but at least he'd be ready for when they came for him. Despite having been through this scenario countless times, he was still caught off-guard sometimes, and being startled wasn't exactly how he liked to start off. Being startled threw him off his game.

          Being startled potentially put them at grave risk.

 

* * *

 

         There was one particular instance that still sticks out in his mind, even all these cycles later, and though he tries to keep his focus on the task at hand at all times, it remains in the back of his mind. When there's a rare quiet moment where there's nothing to immediately be done, he thinks about it.

         He and Rocket had just finished arguing over who knows what, sometime shortly before reaching Knowhere, and had just settled into a tense, but finally quiet moment. Peter can't remember exactly what cycle this was, but he thinks it might have been one of the earliest ones, when this was all too new for him and he was still trying to find his footing. Whatever the case, he remembers exactly the way that Rocket's face suddenly changed as he stared at him. It was slight, but he could see how the not-raccoon went from hateful to seemingly curious. It was subtle, but it made him uncomfortable—like he was under a microscope.

         "Why do you keep holding that bit of your jacket like that?"

         This question caught him by surprise, and he glanced down at himself to see that he was in fact holding a hand over the internal pocket, almost clutching the object within.

         "I-"

         He looks back up and quickly moves his hand a couple inches to rest on his hip. He notes that the other three are also now staring at him and feels his heartbeat increase.

         "What do you have?"

         He could see that Rocket was becoming increasingly suspicious, tensing slightly as if readying for a physical fight, and he became slightly panicked, trying desperately to find his words and de-escalate the situation. He forces his shoulders to relax and his posture to straighten up and back.

         "It's nothing," he says emphatically, "It's a habit I picked up from my time with the Ravagers. I used to put food in there so no one would take it from me."

         It's not entirely a lie, he reasons with himself, since that did actually occur on multiple occasions. Really, the only lie here was that he didn't always have this exact jacket and would usually put the food in a different secret pocket, but Rocket didn't know that, so those details didn't matter at that moment.

         There's more tense silence for a few seconds, and Peter watches the other's face, getting more and more worried that this was about to become a bigger interrogation. The others haven't said anything yet, but he can tell that they too are studying him closely for signs of deceit or danger. Groot seems more worried about the situation than suspicious, but Gamora and Drax seem about ready to attack at a moment's notice. He does everything he possibly can to keep his relaxed stance and softer gaze, glancing around, waiting.

         Rocket stares carefully at him, and he stares back. For a moment, Peter thinks he sees something more in his expression, but he can't quite put a finger on what it is.

         The standoff ends. Rocket huffs and turns away to go settle into the corner of the room to relax.

         "Whatever."

         Drax seems to accept his answer as well and hums lowly, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms. Gamora is less willing to let it drop, but seems to think better of it and doesn't say anything, turning away to glare at the wall.

         Peter's thankful that they reach Knowhere within the hour and that they can concentrate on that instead, but he can't shake the feeling that, for a moment anyway, Rocket _knew_ something.

 

         It's preposterous, he knows, but for some reason, he keeps thinking back to that last look he gave him.

 

         Later that night, Drax's summoning of Ronan ends up killing Gamora before Peter can get to her, and with a bit of struggle, he pulls out the clock. The last thing he thinks about before pulling the lever is Rocket's face, and that strange, strange look.

 

* * *

 Do you want to try again?

 **[YES]**                                                 NO 

* * *

 

         The first time that Peter learns of the clock's true power is by pure accident.

 

         He'd come back from casually scouting out Morag in preparation for his next big heist and was changing his shirt when his eyes landed on the clock he'd stolen nearly two weeks earlier and promptly forgotten about. He tosses his old shirt to the side and walks over to reinspect it.

         It's light, but there's a definite weight to it in his hands, he notices, bouncing it slightly. The clock part itself still hasn't moved, but that could probably easily be fixed with the right parts and some inquiry into Earth's current time. It might be cool, he thinks, to be able to know what time it is back in his hometown on Earth. It might even help him feel more connected to his original home—even make him feel a little more connected to mom, like his walkman did—but even if not, it would certainly serve well as a neat little knick-knack.

         His eyes slide over the wooden surface, inevitably landing on that peculiar little lever. He couldn't remember having ever seen a clock that had something quite like this, and he couldn't think of a single reason why this one might have it. Then again, he did find it in a marketplace on an entirely different planet, so maybe the original owner added it for a reason a Terran might not have use for.

         He raises his hand to it, and lightly pushes it down.

 

         The physical pull of being ripped straight through time itself was alarming and unexpected, to say the least.

 

         Within a second, he jolted back to reality and in his confusion nearly drops the damn thing.

         Gathering himself, he quickly looks around as he catches his breath, trying to see the effects of whatever had just happened. Realizing that he's now suddenly sitting at the console of the ship, wearing a completely different shirt, he begins to panic. He looks everywhere, setting the clock down and getting up to inspect the whole ship, finding nothing else out of the ordinary save for some things being moved. Coming back to the console, he happens to look over at the current date and nearly drops to the floor in shock.

         It's set back a full week from where—when?—he just was.

         Slowly, feeling his head spin wildly with the realization, he pulls himself over to the seat and eases himself down into it. After quadruple-checking the date and making absolutely certain that it wasn't just an issue with the ship's system or any other possible technical glitch, he rubs the sides of his head and leans back, trying to figure out how the hell this was even possible.

         He looks back over at the clock accusingly, but nothing else happens. Clearly, it was whatever was hooked up to the lever, but how? He considers taking the whole thing apart to inspect it, and even picks it up to do just that, before he considers that trying to mess with it might seriously hurt or even kill him.

         He sets it back down. Whatever it was, it would have to wait for him to find someone more capable of understanding it than he was.

         For now, he had a bigger issue—the annoyance of having to re-do this entire week over again.

 

* * *

  

         It isn't until the middle of the week after next that he finds himself holding the clock again.

 

         Peter sits on the floor in Yondu's ship, in absolute despair. Gamora is dead, Drax quickly following, fatally wounded, and Rocket and Groot are possibly gone as well, missing in the chaos of Ronan's attack on Knowhere. Their last transmission, in which Rocket was threatening to attack Yondu in order to rescue Quill, was quickly interrupted by another ship's attack on them, and Peter has no idea if they've survived or not.

         He doesn't know what exactly is going on and what to do, but he knows damn well that he can't go on alone in this. Collapsing in on himself, he just barely registers the unfamiliar weight of something in his jacket.

         The clock's face stares impassively at him as he takes it out, unable to remember when exactly it had gotten into his pocket. He remembers what happened when he pulled to lever, and suddenly, he feels a strange calmness take over him. A moment of clarity breaks through and silences the noise in his head.

         He knows now what he has to do.

         He pulls the lever.

 

* * *

  Do you want to try again?

 **[YES]**                                                 NO 

* * *

  

         It takes a few times before he figures out the basics.

         For one, the clock doesn't take him back the same amount of time with each go. Rather, it always goes back to the moment he's standing outside the shop on Xandar, minutes before Gamora, Rocket, and Groot appear for the first time in his life. He reasons that this means the clock is set to take him back only to a recent fixed point in time, or something relating to that. Regardless, he's grateful for having just one starting point instead of being thrown back randomly.

         Second, some things remain the same, like the routine of being booked into the Kyln, and Drax drunkenly summoning Ronan on Knowhere, but most of everything else has the opportunity to vary wildly, depending on how quick he is, or what he says, or just by chance. He learns each time to be more careful.

         Third, it was absolutely possible to defeat Ronan and get a happy ending, it was just incredibly difficult. He'd seen them get close more than a handful of times, so he knows that they can definitely do it. Peter Quill knows for a fact that he can save them and they can save the universe together. He knows they can make it to the end and live happily ever after.

         He just has to keep trying.

 

* * *

 

           "That's funny—I hated you."

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for now


	3. transcend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Managed to get a paper done earlier than I'd expected, so I had time to whip up another chapter for you lovely folks. :) Dunno when the next chapter will be, but presumably soon considering how quickly this got done, haha~
> 
> [There's a bit of a long note at the end of this, which I'd appreciate you all reading as it pertains to how I'm planning to take things from here.]

* * *

  **transcend** _(v)_ :

          1. To pass beyond the limits of something.  
          2. To surpass, as in intensity or power; To excel.  
          3. _(obsolete)_  To climb; To mount.

* * *

 

         Sometimes, during those too-few quiet moments aboard the Milano when they're still en route to Xandar, Peter will count the tally marks alongside the once smooth panels and wonder exactly how much time in total he's dedicated to this.

         The most recent count puts him at exactly one hundred and twenty-four—not including the current cycle, which would make this the one hundred and twenty-fifth.

         It doesn't happen often, but occasionally, one of the others will spot him doing this, and even rarer will they openly question him on it. Usually it was Gamora or Drax who chose to comment, but he remembers one time very recently, when surprisingly, it was Rocket of all people who'd seemed the most genuinely curious.

         After having remembered that first time, he thinks of this other such instance, in which he swears, beyond all reason, that Rocket knew what was happening.

 

* * *

 

         "What even is that thing?"

 

         Peter jumps slightly, apparently having been too focused in his count that he failed to hear Rocket approaching from the other side of the ship. He's still trying to figure out how to handle this, and whether or not to bother hiding it from view, when the other takes a seat next to him, presumably settling in for a conversation he's not going to take 'no' as an answer for.

         'What the hell,' he decides, and tilts the face of the object to be better seen.

         "It's a clock, from Earth."

         "Something you had back at home, eh?"

         Peter smiles lightly and shakes his head.

         "Nah. Believe it or not, I actually found it in some marketplace a few weeks ago."

         Rocket tilts his head slightly, and leans in to inspect it further, absent-mindedly running a small hand next to the face and down the side. Peter doesn't hand it over to be safe—can't have him accidentally pull the lever and undo this cycle's progress—but he does hold it out more.

         "Huh," he glances up at him before turning his attention back. "So how do you know it's _really_ from there, then?"

         Peter is struck by this. For whatever reason, he actually hadn't questioned that up to this point.

         "I...guess you're right. I just kinda assumed since it's the same style as back home, but now that you say that..."

         The low hum of the ship and a distant quiet conversation between Gamora and Drax is all that is heard for a minute or two, before Rocket speaks again, still facing down at the clock.

         "So what are all these marks for?" He finally looks back up to face him.

         "You...keeping track of something?"

         Peter can feel his heart rate increase bit by bit, hear blood rushing to his ears, and he genuinely can't think of what to say for a good moment. He can't think much beyond an unidentifiable feeling that Rocket—this cycle's Rocket—knew what he was doing. The other hasn't said anything beyond that question, but there was an unmistakable deliberate pause within it, and a certain gleam in his eyes that told Peter that at least on some level, he knew.

 

         Could each cycle's incarnation of his friends carry memories over from a previous one? Was that possible?

         What if this was a bad sign, like a _really_ bad sign? What if this meant something was going wrong with reality itself? Was he pushing this too far?

         Was each cycle about to collapse into each other?

         He'd never considered the horrific possible consequences to his actions until now, and it slammed into him with a great weight, like the entire Ravagers ship landing directly on top of his chest.

 

         "Quill?"

         Rocket's voice snaps him instantly back to himself, and he only just now notices a slight distress in the other, suddenly turning into something akin to recognition, shaking his head slightly and speaking lowly, as if trying to get clear himself from a bad haze.

         "Quill, what...what are you _doing_?"

         He's not talking about something that Peter's currently doing, he can tell. This brings the panic back tenfold, and he knows that he has to say something, to do something, to explain everything.

         "Rocket, I-"

         He's interrupted by a ship crashing directly into the Milano, taking out half of it entirely, and his hand moves on it's own out of muscle-memory.

 

* * *

 Do you want to try again?

 **[YES]**                                                 NO 

* * *

 

         He can't quite pinpoint the exact moment the others became his most treasured friends, and in fact is starting to have a hard time remembering certain details of how the first cycle had gone aside from its beginning and its end, but he knows that he'd do anything for them. Wasn't what he was doing proof enough of that? Still, he struggles with the fact that to them, he is still mostly a complete stranger. With each cycle, he becomes totally new, even as he learns more and more about them and grows more attached.

         Of all things to happen in his life among the stars, he never, ever expected to have such close friends that only just barely knew him. He wonders if this is how it feels for those with family members experiencing dementia—having to reintroduce himself over and over again, and just having to be patient with them when they treated him as coldly as just another person they're passing by on the street.

         He'd still choose to do this for them, though, time and time again.

         Even if it takes a thousand times, no matter how many times he has to relive the same days over again, no matter how much it hurts, he'll never give up. He can't. He's knows it'll be worth it in the end.

         If only he could just get there.

 

* * *

  

         Rocket isn't the only one, though. Peter's had a couple of such strange moments with the others too, like the one time in which after having just tackled and pinned him to the ground, he's roughly turned around to face Gamora, when her face suddenly morphs into an expression of confused familiarity.

         "I know you," she says quietly, mostly to herself, but she's clearly struggling with this idea.

         This unfortunately distracts her just long enough to be shot down by someone unseen.

         

         There was another time, after having just made the truce with everyone in order to work together to break out of the Kyln. They had just finished discussing their final plan when Drax suddenly turned directly to him, unprompted, and said,

         "And you will be stopping to retrieve your music device, yes?"

         Peter feels a sharp coldness run through him beyond the sudden confusion of the rest of the team.

         "I...never told you about my walkman."

         They're thankfully immediately distracted by Groot triggering the alarms and bolt into action, but Peter is still thinking about it even as he runs across the floor, and especially when he does go to get his personal belongings.

 

         Still, yet another time where he clearly remembers Groot, who was _supposed_ to only just be seeing him for the first time, visibly perking up at his appearance and warmly smiling, lifting a branch as if about to greet him with a wave. Rocket quickly catches this as he's charging his gun, and snaps at him to keep his focus, barking a question of just what the flark he thought he was doing, acting so friendly to a target like that.

         He can still see Groot's branch pause for a moment before falling, face changing to one of genuine puzzlement as he also questions his half-action.

 

         Peter has no idea what it all means, but he knows that it probably isn't exactly good news.

         He has to hurry up and finish this, before it's too late.

 

         Even ignoring these startling and _deeply_ unsettling moments, there's still another huge issue: Peter himself has started to slip up more and more in recent cycles. Unable now to recall each detail about each cycle with how many he's been through, he's let information slip out that he'd _thought_ had already been given to him that particular cycle, but actually hadn't.

         None of the team tends to react well to these moments, for obvious and understandable reasons. Even if it somehow doesn't end in a fight over whether or not he was a possible spy or something of the sort, which is often does, it always ends in an incredible distrust of him, and this is something he definitely can't risk, considering what exactly is on the line here.

         He tries so badly to keep track of himself and what is said and left unsaid, really he does, but it's just so _d'ast_ _difficult_.

 

* * *

 

         Peter doesn't realize it, but Rocket can see him with his clock in the corner of the room, and he knows for a fact that something's up. He doesn't know precisely what yet, and can't yet fathom a guess at what it might be, but just the fact that the humie literally _always_ seems distracted and keeps pulling out that damn clock-thing is enough to tell him that there's something serious he isn't telling the rest of them.

         Well, _flark that_.

         They're all quietly sitting amongst themselves on the ride to Xandar for their big battle, but before they go down to risk their lives for the galaxy, Rocket has to know who he's going along on this with.

         "Quill, what's your deal anyway?"

         Perhaps not the most tactful of ways to start this, but it would have to do. Peter jumps, startled, and looks up at him in confusion, the rest of the team following suit.

         "What're you talking about?"

         "Yes, what troubles you so of friend Quill?" Drax inquires.

         Gamora says nothing but is clearly waiting for more information to make her own move. Groot leans over to question him, but Rocket continues to stare straight ahead at Peter, and gestures to the clock.

         "You're always spacing out and holding that thing. What's it about?"

         "It's nothing, just-"

         "Yeah right, it's nothing!" He snaps, continuing on. "Look man, I'm not some stupid animal, I know there's something going on with you, and I think if I'm about to possibly die I deserve to at least know who I'm dying with!"

         Peter struggles for a response, stuttering a bit before Gamora cuts in.

         "I too would like to know about your particular fascination with that object."

         "I am Groot?" Groot tries to cool things down, but Rocket ignores this.

         "Well Quill? C'mon, I thought we were supposed to be a team here."

         "We are!" Peter finally shouts, visibly losing control over what he says.

         "You have no _idea_ what you guys mean to me, or what I'm trying to do!"

         "Do what, exactly?" Gamora raises a brow in suspicion, tensing slightly and moving a hand back to her blade just in case.

         Peter can't take it anymore.

         "I'm trying to save you, dammit! I'm just trying to make it all right!"

         Rocket isn't backing down.

         "Save us from _what?_ You barely even know us, we just met!"

 

         "No we _didn't_!"

 

         Peter seems to just actually realize what he just said and stops short, expression becoming horrified, but for what, Rocket just can't understand.

         They _did_ only just meet, he's sure of it. He would've definitely remembered meeting him before this, right?

         He looks back on the past couple of days, really _focuses_ on everything that he saw and noticed, and suddenly he's not so sure.

         He finds himself thinking of everything at once - of the way Peter tended to treat all of them with nervous care, of those moments where he seemed to know precisely what would happen next without a second thought, of the tally marks carved into the surface of that pathetic hunk of wood and metal he called a clock.

         Finally, Rocket finds his voice.

 

         "...Quill...Have we met before?"

  
   
         Peter won't meet his gaze.

 

* * *

 

         When Peter is feeling especially down over things, he looks back on the few brighter moments of his journey, the ones he'd spent getting to know each of them, of growing to love them.

         Those cherished moments of talking with each of them, little and generally somewhat heated on their ends as it was, was something he never stopped craving. Though they hadn't gotten the chance to quite get to know him enough to be comfortable with sharing more personal information with him, making many things still mostly a mystery to him, he held out some hope that they'd have time to really _talk_ one day.

         Gamora has never had it easy and has spent her entire life fighting just to survive, and she doesn't ever quite seem to really understand him, but he accepts this and knows that he has to be patient. He's broken through before, even just a little bit, and this means he can do it again and eventually gain her trust. Gamora, he knows for a fact, has a truly good heart underneath her cold and calculating shell, and he just wishes he could help her be able to show it more.

         Drax too has had it decidedly rough, and Peter knows that nothing will ever be able to take away the pain of losing his wife and daughter in such a sudden and violent way, but he wants so badly to be there for him. Those times where he is just so genuinely confused over one of Peter's Terran sayings almost always has him fighting back a large grin, and in those moments he can really see the potential in their friendship.

         He feels bad about pretending to not be able to understand Groot when he speaks, but in actuality, it's been enough cycles to where he's getting close to being fluent in Groot-speak. It definitely took a good long while, but almost without noticing, Peter had begun to pick up more and more on the actual meaning of his words, and it's one of the things he's most proud of, because it means that he and Groot could too have a close friendship one of these days, without the language barrier requiring a translator.

         He and Rocket in particular butted heads a lot because they were both similarly incredibly stubborn and prideful in themselves, and Peter didn't think for a second that that would ever actually change much, but he knew he could see the real Rocket that was carefully hidden deep down. He hoped above all else that he could convince him to open up more, bit by bit at least. He knew with very little uncertainty that they could become proper best friends, if Rocket would be so kind as to let them.

         Drax had had a family and lost them permanently, Gamora hadn't ever really had one aside from Thanos, who hardly counted, and Nebula, who hated her, neither Rocket nor Groot had ever had an actual family, and the closest thing he'd had was his mother and the Ravagers. He thinks that maybe they could form their own ridiculous sort of family one of these days, if things worked out in his favor. To him, they already were, at least, and he does take a bit of comfort in this.

         More than anything, he'd come to love them all so incredibly deeply that it was difficult to put into words. He wants to know _everything_  about them.

         And that just made each cycle all the more painful.

 

         In his darkest moments, he wonders if it will ever end. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know y'all might be disappointed, especially since this took such a long time to be able to fully come back to, but I was never really planning on this to be a super-long fic. It's very likely just gonna go on for another couple chapters or so after this, which I have planned out, and then an epilogue to really wrap things up.
> 
> [Of course, there's always the fair possibility that I may end up coming up with just enough more material for an extra chapter or two, but we will certainly see~]
> 
> Rest assured, though, I'll be trying to make them as good as I can so that it's all worth it, and maybe I'll do another GotG fic after this, since I did have a small idea the other day that I might enjoy playing a bit with.  
> [And who knows, I may even eventually do a more detailed version of a cycle or two as a standalone thing one of these days.]
> 
> Either way, I just want you all to know that I very much appreciate all your support even after all this time, and each comment and bookmark and kudos has left me grinning like an idiot [and tbh, sometimes close to tears, hahaha!] Please, absolutely feel free to send more of your thoughts, because I greatly look forward to reading any and every one.


	4. coherence

* * *

**coherence** _(n)_ :

         1. Quality of cohering; of being coherent; internal consistency.  
         2. A logical arrangement of parts.  
         3. _(physics, of waves)_ The property of having the same wavelength and phase.  
         4. _(linguistics)_ Semantic relationship between different parts of the same text.

* * *

 

          A lot of the details are starting to become pretty fuzzy after all this time, but Peter can still remember most of the first cycle as if it had only just happened, (and he supposes, in some weird time-space way, that it technically did).

          The rush of the chase at the very start in particular is something that always sticks with him—of finding Gamora, Rocket, and Groot that _first_ time. He had absolutely no clue how much they—and later Drax—would mean to him in a couple days' time, and while at this point such a fact is laughable to him, at the time, it really was just a complete and total mystery.

         Those first few moments at the start were what played on repeat, over and over in his head, that first time he chose to go back for them. Clutching the clock desperately in trembling hands, tears beginning to cloud his vision, the voices of Yondu and various Ravegers muffled in the background by the growing ringing in his ears...

 _"...Take me back...Please, just take me back..."_  
  
  
         He looks back on that and wonders if it was ever a good idea in the first place.

* * *

  
         Many cycles later, there was a point in which he'd been talking quietly with Rocket, in those few long minutes before they reached Xandar for the final confrontation. They'd wondered aloud how in the universe they'd all ended up at that point together, of all things to happen.  
  
  
         Peter muses, with a small, warm smile,

  
         "I think I must've loved you all from the beginning."  
           
  
         Rocket huffs a laugh, keeping his eyes out on the approaching destination.

  
         "That's funny—I hated you."

* * *

  
         The tenth cycle—or was it is the twentieth? The thirtieth?—they had gotten _so_ close that he'd thought this was it, that they'd won and he did it—he'd saved them. They could move on from there and it was all okay because _they'd done it_ , it was alright, they were _safe_.

         They had just breached the Dark Aster and were steadily making their way through, fighting through everything and everyone in their way as best as they could. Gamora was off in the middle of fighting Nebula, and Peter is nearly overtaken when Drax rushes in and he and Groot take down those immediately surrounding them. He quickly uses his rocket boosters to give him a lift and fight back against two more, shooting at them as quickly as he could.

         He has little idea of what is happening now on the outside, but he knows he has to be quick, and it's at that point where he both hears and feels a hole blasted into the ship somewhere close by. He hears more explosions happening outside and wonders briefly just how many people have just died.

         Gamora bursts back onto the scene, apparently having won, and they, minus Rocket, regroup just in time to see Ronan with his Warhammer. Peter shoots at him, and in the settling of the large burst of energy, he deactivates his mask and prays to whatever god is out there that it was just enough to do it.

         He thinks now that he should have definitely known, even then, that such a thing was never going to be that easy.

         Ronan stands easily, pointing his Warhammer and sending them flying back. They're outmatched, he realizes, as he feels a shot of something graze his side and drops down again in pain. He looks up to see Drax being held in Ronan's grip, being choked, and another shot being carelessly sent Gamora's way, managing to get her.

         He's in so much pain and losing so much blood and Drax isn't strong enough to fight back on his own and Gamora isn't moving anymore and where is Groot and is Rocket one of the casualties from what he heard out there and it's _all too much and-_

  
         He rolls over to just barely dodge another shot and pulls out the clock.

* * *

  Do you want to try again?

 **[YES]**                                                 NO 

* * *

 

         He's sent back to the start in the next instant and gasps for air for a few long moments.

  
         He nearly jumps out of his skin a couple of seconds later just as he starts to come back down from that first initial fear, and feels a new wave of panic as he quickly feels his side for his wound.  
  
  
         It's not there anymore, and he's both relieved and some type of unsettled. Passersby are glancing over at him questioningly, a mother noticeably reaching down to pull her curious child closer to her as she quickens her pace away. He can't bring himself to be even mildly offended at this, and instead works on coaxing his breathing and heart-rate back into their normal paces.

  
         That was the first time, he thinks, that he ever actually questioned his decision.

 

         Later, in the midst of the fray between himself, Rocket, Groot, and Gamora, he tries something more upfront and, admittedly, desperate. At every little moment he can, he tries to stop each of them in the middle of their actions and question them.

         "Hey! Wait! Wait wait wait, c'mon man, please, just-!" He pulls Rocket's face to be level with his and holds it firmly in his hands.

         "Do you recognize me? Do you know who I am?"

         Rocket hisses and rips his face out of his grip, giving Peter a nasty bite for good measure.

         "What the _flark_ \- No! And _don't touch me!_ "

         Peter supposes he earned that bite, as well as the ensuing violent whack to the legs that bring him crashing down to the ground.

         A few minutes later when they're all being hunted down by the Nova Corps, Rocket does nothing in between dodging the Corps but glare at him and spit obscenities. He supposes he's earned that too.

         They skip right over being detained and Gamora is shot down by someone. Peter decides that that's quite enough, as short as this cycle was, and pulls the lever again.

* * *

  Do you want to try again?

 **[YES]**                                                 NO 

* * *

 

         Even later still, in the cycle immediately after, when he goes to talk Drax out of killing Gamora and realizes that he's just a few moments too late, he automatically reaches down to lightly clutch his side without thinking as he holds back his stomach contents. He had noticed before, when he'd been stripped, that there's a light but still noticeable scar that he can't remember being there before.

         He wonders what it means in terms of what the clock is actually doing when it takes him back.

         Was this the same timeline he was reliving over and over again, with different choices creating different endings, or was this something more? Was he actually jumping over into completely different timelines, different _realities_ altogether when he pulls that lever? The scar seems to imply that he is the same Peter at the start as he is when he pulls the lever to reset...but what if he isn't? Is he even himself anymore after so many times?

 

         He has a powerful headache that he's pointedly ignoring when he makes that promise to this cycle's Rocket.

 

         "I'm gonna fix this, buddy. I'm not gonna stop until I get it right. I _promise_ , I'll save you guys."

          "Quill...What the _fuck_ are you-"

          "I'll see you soon, okay?"

          "Quill-!"

 

* * *

 Do you want to try again?

 **[YES]**                                                 NO 

* * *

   
  
         "Do any of you believe in like...fate, or any of that?"

         The rest of the group looks over at him, faces ranging from surprised confusion to clearly questioning his mental state.

         "Fate?" Rocket makes a face as he says this.

         "I do not know what you mean by this," Gamora says cautiously. "Explain."

         "You know, like..." Peter gestures feebly, keeping his gaze mainly on the floor but glancing up at them once or twice.

         "Like, 'everything happens for a reason' and things like that. Being _meant_ to do something or meet someone."

         Rocket snorts, but there's otherwise silence for a moment as everyone considers this, until Drax speaks up, thoughtfully staring into space.

         "My people believe in something similar, though I myself am not so certain."

         "I have never considered such a thing, but I can't say that I would ever believe in it."

         Gamora is clearly trying to be at least somewhat respectful of Drax's culture while also expressing how ridiculous she likely thinks it is.

         "I think it's stupid."

         Rocket, on the other hand, isn't as concerned in the least. Drax looks mildly offended but remains silent as he regards his small teammate.

         "And what is your reasoning for such?"

         He snorts and stretches, looking over at Drax for a moment, and then at Peter.

         "Look, humie, if there were such a thing we wouldn't have free will, would we? Things wouldn't be nearly as flarking messed up and confusing as they are if fate were an actual thing. The way I see it—we're all doomed to our own choices, and fate's just a way of people blaming their shitty decisions on something else. You're stuck making your _own_  destiny, and ain't no way around it."

         Peter just nods lightly, contemplating this.

         "Can't really argue with that, I guess."

 

         He's still impressed by this answer even up to the current cycle, and finds that he can't shake it off, hearing Rocket's voice reciting it every now and then when he's really thinking about things.

         Peter has never stopped wondering about his predicament and what it all may or may not mean, and more than that, he wonders whether his friend was correct or not in his assumption about fate.

         How else would he have found the clock at that precise moment in time? Had he not, he certainly would have gone on as usual and perhaps would have died on Knowhere, or if not then, in the Battle For Xandar, or if not then, somewhere else along the line after meeting the rest of his team.

         That clock, with that particular ability, was at one stall, in one marketplace, on one planet, and if he hadn't been there on that day at that time, and tripped at that precise moment—what else might have happened? Would someone else have found it and be going through something similar to what he is now, or would it be collecting dust on a shelf somewhere like he himself had originally intended it to? Would it have somehow still found its way into his hands even if he hadn't stolen it at that moment?

         For all of this to come into play together and wind up in this one situation, did this mean that maybe he was destined to find it—destined for _all_ of this?

         ...Or was Rocket right all along, and Peter was just putting this terrible fate entirely on himself?

 

         He shivers at the thought.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter's gonna be The Main Chapter, and then after that I think will be the epilogue.


	5. destination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~Here Comes The Big One~
> 
> Apologies for the slight delay, I've been Quite Sick the past couple of days and this one was a bit trickier to write than the others. I might even go back and edit/re-write bits and pieces at a later date, tbh I just really wanted to at least get this done hahaha

* * *

**destination** _(n)_ :

         1. (archaic) The act of destining or appointing.  
         2. The purpose for which anything is destined; predetermined end, object, or use; ultimate design.  
         3. The place set for the end of a journey, or to which something is sent; place or point aimed at.

* * *

 

         "...Quill...Have we met before?"

  
         It's cycle one hundred and twenty-five, and Peter has no idea how to answer that.

         He can feel everyone else's gazes center directly on him, but he's keeping his own away, refusing to meet any of them—he just _can't_.

         "Quill?"

         Rocket takes a step forward, unwavering. Peter can feel himself begin to sweat.

         "Quill, you better tell me what the flark is going on."

         "Why are you so reluctant to look at the rodent? At any of us?"

         Drax has joined in, not moving, but intimidating nonetheless. Rocket barely spares a disgusted glance his way before focusing again on Peter. Gamora is next, coming to stand just behind Rocket. Peter's legs begin to quiver slightly, accompanied by an increasing ringing in his ears.

         "Why are you behaving in this manner? Is he correct? Why won't you answer him?"

         "I am Groot?"

         "I—"

         He can't get any words out—he's quickly floundering under the pressure, and they all only get closer. His heartbeat pounds in his ears, and he can barely hear above that and the ringing.

         His mind is blank.

         Everything ounce of strength is leaving him.

_He can't take it anymore._

         "Quill."

         "Quill?"

         " _Quill!_ "

  
         He feels himself completely _break_.

         "I—!"

         Suddenly, he's dropped to the floor, and everything comes pouring out at once along with uncontrollable tears.

  
         "I— I keep going back, but I can't get it right!"  
  
         "...Quill—"  
  
         "I've met you all over a _hundred times_ , _over and over_ , but I _just can't get it right!"_

  
         The silence in response to that is barely noticeable over his own wails, and he can't stop himself from spilling it out, repeating himself over and over.

         "God dammit, I just can't do it! I keep trying, but you always, _always die!"_

         They remain silent.

         "I keep trying to fix it, but nothing works, and— I just don't know what else to do! I can't—  
  
        **...I can _never save you!_ _"_**

 

* * *

 

         It takes a while for him to calm down enough to even remotely explain himself.  
  
         Understandably, they're all reluctant to accept any part of it, and he's just glad that they aren't immediately shoving him into the airlock. Though, he can see them become puzzled by and genuinely interested in the clock, once he takes it out and tries to explain what little he can of how it works. Amazingly, they seem willing to at least hear him out.

  
         He somehow doubts they would give him any chance like this, had this been an earlier cycle—that would require just a bit too must trust in him, something that would have had to build up more over time. Another side-effect of things?  
  
         He tries not to think about that and to just be grateful for the frankly minimal push-back.

 

         "So every time I pull this lever here, I get sent back to Xandar the other day, when we all first met. Most of us," he corrects, nodding at Drax.

         "I've been trying to figure out how to defeat Ronan—I think that's the key thing here, but...y'know, it...hasn't really been working out," he trails off, finally looking up from it to quickly gauge their reactions.

         "So you think Ronan is the reason as to why you have that?" Gamora pulls a slight face, and he doesn't blame her for being so cautiously suspicious.

         "Kind of? I guess? I mean—"

         "Quill, wait," Rocket stops him, holding up his hands. He runs one through the fur on his head and groans lowly, trying to gather himself.

         "I don't know if I really believe any of this, but listen," he opens his eyes and makes sure Peter is looking back at him.

         "I want you to promise that you won't use it this time."

 

         Peter's mouth opens, then closes, then opens again.

         "...What?"

         "If what you're saying is true, and you've used it  _that_ many times, you could be messing up the entire universe here," he points directly to it for emphasis, not breaking eye contact.

         "You need to stop using it."

   
         "I can't."

         " _What?_ Did you even hear me, I just—"

         "I heard what you said," Peter interrupts. "And I know why you're worried, I'm worried about that too, but I can't just give up on this. I won't."

         "He holds a strong point," Drax supplies. "If what you say is even half-true, there could be untold amounts of damage that has already been wrought by this object."

         "Playing with such a thing is immensely dangerous. And even if _none_ of what you say is true, it is perfectly clear that you're obsessed with it." Gamora is stern even despite her obvious disbelief, and before Peter can continue to defend himself, the others chime in the agree with her.

         "She is correct. Such an obsession may prove to be too distracting to the mission at hand," Drax says lightly, keeping a careful eye on Peter as if he's expecting him to react violently.

         "Look, all we're saying is maybe leave the thing behind, just this once."

         Rocket holds his hands up and takes another step forward. Peter thinks that he's about to make a move to physically take it from him, and he flinches, stepping back in answer.

         "Look— Listen, if wanting to save you is being obsessive, then fine, call me obsessed! Call me whatever you want, but I'm gonna do whatever it takes, however many times it takes me—"

         "Why do you even want to 'save us' this badly? Why are you so fixated?" Gamora steps up next, frustrated and voice growing louder.

         "You hardly know a _thing_ about us, you met us barely days ago, so why go to all this trouble?"

         And oh, does that almost make him break all over again.

         "No," he corrects, softly. " _You_ barely know _me_ , but I know _you_."

         He steadies himself internally, and takes a breath.

         "Drax, you never told me this time around, but in another, you told me your wife's name was Hovat. And your daughter, her name was Kamaria, right?"

         Drax is very visibly taken aback by this, startled into silence and, Peter notes guiltily, some despair. But he isn't done, he still has more to prove.

         "Gamora, one time when we were talking on Knowhere, you told me how Thanos would have you and Nebula fight each other, and since she always lost, she always got a piece of herself replaced, whatever that means."

         She too is startled, confused and simultaneously furious.

         " _How do you_ —"

         "Groot, ask me something really specific."

         He forces himself to turn away from her to face the flora colossus, who tilts his head. He shares a look with Rocket, who only looks back with a confused half-shrug, and looks back to Peter.

         "...I am Groot?"

         "The Milano."

         Both Groot and Rocket immediately startle.

         "I'm...I'm _really_ sorry about pretending not to understand you all this time," he apologizes meekly, because what else can he even do at this point? Groot, recovering from the shock, merely smiles gently.

         "I am Groot."

  
         "I know it's still probably really hard to believe me," Peter turns back to all of them as group, clutching the clock tighter. "But I'm not gonna give up on saving you, even if it takes me a hundred more times."

         The silence this time is so long and heavy that he thinks for a moment that he might just have to reset things here and now.

         Rocket clears his throat.

         "Look...I'm having a hard time with this, but at least..." He pauses to, Peter assumes, properly gather his words, before looking him dead in the eye.

         "Don't pull that lever...thing. Not until the _last_ possible second."

         It's hard to say no to a best friend.

         He nods.

         "I promise."

         Xandar draws ever closer.

         "Let's do this."

 

* * *

 

          To say that Peter is devastated, absolutely _gutted_ when Groot chooses to sacrifice himself in their stead, is the understatement of the century. The one and only thing keeping him from pulling the lever right at that moment is Rocket's weight in his arms, and then Gamora's hand on his arm stopping him when he reaches for it still as they fall.

         They rarely ever make it this far, he notes, in the moments just before they crash.

         Somehow, even in the depths of his despair, Peter finds the energy and imagination to come up with a dance-off distraction of all things, and he wants so badly to just sit back and laugh. But it worked! Thanks to his ridiculous scheme, Drax and Rocket were able to blast apart Ronan's war hammer and reveal the Infinity Stone.

         And the moment that damned source of all his trouble becomes visible for the first time in all these cycles, Peter truly believes that he's finally found his answer—the ultimate solution he's worked so hard to achieve.

         He jumps forward, amid Gamora's shout and Ronan's attempt to get to it first, and grasps it in his hand.

  
         It's more painful than each cycle and every ounce of pain he's ever experienced combined.

         But it's worth it, he's decided.

         He'll gladly die for them, gladly go through a _thousand_ cycles and more, gladly experience this very moment for all of eternity if it means his friends will live on.

         It's worth it.

         He's found the answer.

 

         Somewhere amid his agonized screams and the entire universe seeming to wrap around him in a fury, he thinks for a moment that he can see his mother, beckoning him. He's ready to go with her now.

         He takes her hand.

         But it isn't his mother—it's Gamora. And then it's Drax too, at his shoulder, and Rocket right at Drax's side.

         They're sharing his burden, and suddenly he finds it isn't so painful anymore. His mind clears and as he comes to the realization that they're not dying from this and that he can feel a sort of control taking over this immense power, he also realizes that perhaps _this_ was the answer after all. _His friends were the answer._

 

         "You're mortal— _how?"_

         "You said it yourself, bitch. We're the Guardians of the Galaxy."

 

         And just like that, they're standing amongst the wreckage unharmed, with Ronan destroyed and the Infinity Stone once again nested within the Orb, just as it had in the very beginning.

         Once the Ravagers are out of the way thanks to some more quick thinking, Peter is left with one huge problem.

         They've won, but Groot is dead.

         Was it truly worth it?

         Without thinking, he sits himself on the ground and pulls out the clock, hand at the ready.

         He knows now how to end things.

         Surely, he can go back and keep Groot alive, can't he?

  
          _ **"Enough!"**_

         Rocket is in front of him in an instant, and before he can react, the clock is torn viciously from his hands.

         "I— wait, _stop!"_

  
         In one motion, Rocket snaps the lever clean off, using his entire body to throw it in a random direction, and the clock to the ground at his feet, cracking the glass almost to the point of complete shattering.

         Peter has no fucking idea how to react. He can only stare wide-eyed at his friend, tears beginning to fill his vision.

         "Rocket—"

         "Isn't this _enough_ for you? We frickin' _won_ , d'ast idiot! Isn't that enough already?"

         He's shouting furiously, but there's also a desperate sadness to it. His voice drops to just under normal levels.

         "Isn't that enough?"

         The tears fall, but Peter doesn't care. He weakly shakes his head and hiccups.

         " _Groot_ , I have to go back for him, I have to—"

         Rocket climbs up onto his lap and uses his hands to force Peter to look him in the eyes.

         "Groot— He _chose_ to save us so that we could even get a chance at this. If he hadn't done that, we might all be dead right now and Ronan might be out running the galaxy," he shakes his head, giving Peter's a slight shake. "Can't you just...just honor that?"

         Peter can't find the words to answer. Rocket steps back and picks up a particular stick, holding it out.

         "We can bring him back, right here, with _this_. He's a _tree_. You don't have to pull your time-thing on this. You can stop now. Okay? Do you hear me?  _You can stop_."

  
         Peter takes this all in, takes everything that's just happened, and sobs.

         After a few moments, he feels everyone slowly surround him in a hug, and he only sobs harder.

 

* * *

 

         Much later, after the Milano's been fully repaired and upgraded, and they've all had time to rest and recuperate, Peter opens the gift from his mother that he'd been avoiding all this time. Awesome Mix Volume 2 plays joyfully on the speaker-system as they prepare to leave Xandar for their new lives together as an official team, and the mood is lighter than any of them can remember it being in recent times.

         He retreats briefly to his allotted room to retrieve the clock and it's detached lever from his new jacket's pocket.

         After initially leaving both behind, he'd gone back to find them after considering the possibility of them ending up in the wrong hands, and lord knows he wasn't going to just let that happen. Gazing down at the object that had held his obsession for so long, he smiles briefly.

         He locks them both away in the depths of separate drawers, and goes out to rejoin his friends.

 

* * *

 Do you want to try again?

YES                                                   **[NO]**

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it~ Now's just the epilogue to go!  
> See y'all at the finish line :)


	6. epilogue ; coda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few months later.  
>  **[SPOILER WARNING for Vol.2]**

* * *

**coda** _(n)_ :

          1. _(music)_ A passage that brings a movement or piece to a conclusion through prolongation.  
          2. _(figuratively)_ A conclusion (of a statement or event, for example), final portion, tail end.

* * *

 

         It's been quiet for a long while now, but the ringing in Peter's ears hasn't stopped yet.

         He can still feel the cold of open space, behind the thin layer of his emergency spacesuit.

         No, _Yondu's_ spacesuit.

         The one _he_ was supposed to wear, the one that Yondu had pressed firmly onto him instead. He can still see the ice collect all over his body, his eyes grow more and more blank with each passing second as the life drained out of him.

         The feeling of those once-warm hands, now so cold, cradling his face so lovingly.

         He can't stand it.

         He's sitting alone now, by the side of the large fire they had built hours earlier. After the funeral was over and the rest of the Ravagers had one by one gone off back to their own missions, he and his team—up two members now, with Kraglin and Mantis—had made their way back to the planet they'd originally crash-landed on, where the Milano was still waiting patiently for their return. They decided to stay there for a while, while Rocket and Kraglin finish off the previously interrupted repairs and they all figure out exactly where they're going from there.

         The rest of the team had since gone off to bed, so Peter had quietly combed the remains of his room to see if one of his possessions in particular had survived the initial crash.

         And somehow, it had. The face of the clock, still worn and cracked from when Rocket had tried to destroy it, stares back impassively at him, the detached lever held with it in his other hand.

         Certainly, he could fix it. Whether it would still work was up for debate, but somehow he figured it would. The item was, after all, strangely durable.

         But would it take him back to the correct moment? The destruction of Ego was definitely a fixed point, but did any of the moments that had transpired since then count as one as well, and overwrite it? If that were the case, it meant that there would be no way to go back to exactly when he needed it to—no way to save him. How would he manage it, anyway?

         He wouldn't know for sure unless he tried, though.

 

         "I thought we got rid of that thing."

 

         He nearly jumps out of his skin, almost rushing to hide it behind him before he realizes immediately that it's too late. Rocket just looks at him for a moment from across the fire pit, before casually making his way around it to sit beside him. Peter takes a deep breath and looks back down at the clock.

         "I didn't want someone else to find it, in case it still worked."

         "You could've told us you still have it."

         "...I'm sorry."

         A slightly tense moment passes.

         "You're not planning on using it again, are you?"

         Peter can feel the crushing sadness rushing up to the surface again, and they both see his hands tremble slightly as they clutch on tighter.

         "I...If I don't at least _try_ — Maybe I can, I can save him, I—"

         "Pete, _stop_."

         Both the surprise of the different, more friendly nickname, and the small hand on his arm startle him enough to interrupt his oncoming rant, and he tears his eyes away from his own hands to look over at his friend. Rocket looks back not with anger or even disappointment, but a tired sort of sadness that he figures they were all feeling in the wake of everything that had just happened.

         "You and I both know it'd be impossible. And you and I _also_ know he wouldn't want you to put yourself through that."

         He looks away and into the embers of the fire and takes his hand back, bringing both to rest over his knees.

         "Granted, I didn't know the guy long, but still."

         Peter keeps his eyes on him, taking this in, and Rocket doesn't even bother snapping at him to stop staring. They stay like that for what feels like forever.

 

         "...Yeah," he says finally, confirming it more to himself than to Rocket.

         "You're right."

         And purely on an impulse that felt equally as right in that moment and ensuring that he can't change his mind, in one smooth motion, he tosses the clock and lever into the flames.

         He inwardly cringes at the permanence of this, and even fights a startlingly strong urge to jump up and reach into the flames with his bare hands to take it back, but he keeps himself seated.

         He knows he should've destroyed the damn thing a long time ago.

         Rocket jumps slightly as the sudden movement and sound, but doesn't say anything, only watches with Peter as it slowly settles in and disappears amongst the rest of the firewood, minute by minute.

 

         "So," Rocket breaks the silence after a long while, looking up to face the night sky, toward the never-ending expanse of space.

         "Where should we go next?"

         Peter considers this for a few moments, humming thoughtfully.

         "I think," he starts, still watching the spot where the clock had since vanished entirely. Rocket's eyes drift down again to watch him.

         "...I think I wanna go back to Earth, for a bit."

         A beat passes, and he almost expects Rocket to protest this for one reason or another. Instead, his friend just looks back up at the sky, and this time, Peter joins him, picking out constellations.

         "It'll be a long ride."

         They both smile lightly despite themselves, and Peter realizes that at some point during all of this, the ringing in his ears has stopped, finally allowing him some peace.

         "That's alright, we've got time."

 

         They stargaze in companionable silence for a while after that, and wonder just what kind of crazy bullshit life will bring them next.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's that. :)
> 
> Once again, just want to take the opportunity to thank everyone who's supported me through this, whether through sending me your thoughts through your comments or just quietly reading and giving me kudos. It's all meant so incredibly much for me, and I'm eternally grateful.<3
> 
> I'll be taking a small break from writing while I gather possible ideas for other stories (and just generally relax and enjoy my summer vacation), but worry not — I'll be around lurking, and feel free to keep in touch if you want. ;P


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